Of Golden Thread and Ivory Claws

• Seven: Of Plotters and Conflicting Wills •

~Loki~

After taking leave from the tavern, Loki returned to Asgard - to the palace of Idavall, where the gods met for gatherings, outside of those made most frequent at the Well of Urd. Quickly removing his attire, he threw it from himself in disgust. He had been in the set of clothing for far to long - the stench of brewed alcohol pungent and repulsing. Still nude, he pictured the place he wished to be and snapped his fingers - appearing at a secluded pool far enough from his current lodgings that he did not have to worry about unwanted visitors.

Taking out a flint, he brought out the stone pot and began heating the bathing stones. Unlike the castle, this place was not connected to any heating source nor was Loki a god of fire or sun - so he had to warm up the water by more traditional means. Regardless, he did not have to share his washing quarters with anyone else, which was a satisfaction in itself.

Loki could not - no, would not - imagine sharing such amenities with those other, filthy beings. The thought of sharing water with war-mongering Thor or even his own thing of a wife - made Loki's skin crawl. While they shared children, Sigyn was someone he was paired with by those he so hated, and she tottered after him every time they were together like some besotted nurse maid. Although he liked that she was easy to control and manipulate, that was where her uses ended and everything else just made him dislike her. She was nothing but a boring dullard.

Once the coals were properly scorched, he dumped them into the pool and sat on the edge, waiting for the water to warm.

The air itself was chilly. So much so that it left his nipples pert and his hair on end, but he did not hate the momentary discomfort. Because while he did despise those that lived within the realm, Asgard was quite beautiful in its grand landscape. His bathing pool held just one view of it, resting on the edge of a mountainous cliff - the slow, trickling spring water escaping off of it in one of Asgard's notorious waterfalls. From his place, Loki could see all three of Odin's palaces and the outward view of the central plains beginning towards his lodgings. Beyond that, there was just a small peek of some of the territories surrounding Idavall. There were the mountains of Odin in front of him and those of Thor's in the distance - the peaks there sparking with lightning at inconstant rates - and then there was the start of Freya's prairie. The other territories and regions faded into the distance and his own stretched far behind him, on the opposing side of the mount upon which he sat.

He fancied himself with just one residence, where he and Sigyn stayed - at opposing sides of the castle, of course. It was not just about him despising her. Should he take another to bed, he need not have her go to Odin and start up a fuss.

Sticking a toe into the water, he sighed in pleasure at the warmth and languidly slipped into the pool. Conjuring a few of his bathing products, of whom he had manufactured himself, he wetted his head and applied vanilla and tobacco scented hair oil to his scalp. After doing so, he let it settle into roots and strands before rubbing some into his carefully trimmed beard. Rinsing both with care, he then took his goat milk soap, infused with cedarwood and sage - and washed his body.

Once finished, he leaned back - stretching his neck and finally beginning to relax. Shaking his hair, he stroked back the wet strands with his fingers - slicking them back so that they were no longer in his face. Enjoying his now fresh smell, his mind sparked on something. Loki flicked his wrist and a glass cup appeared. He closed his green eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, a red wine began to pouring into it from midair. He brought it to his nose, swishing it about, and then smiled.

After all, he did not hate alcohol. However, it was blatantly obvious how different his taste was from that of Thor's. Wine did not stink like that of mead and ale, even if he could somehow stomach the taste.